


Huginn ok Muninn fljúga hverjan dag

by 0positiv



Category: Ragnarok (TV 2020)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, or something like that, spoilers for series 1 obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23053720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0positiv/pseuds/0positiv
Summary: Huginn, derived from Old Norse verbhuga, to think, and Muninn, derived from Old Norse verbmuna, to remember.The first thing Laurits noticed about Edda was that it was weird.
Relationships: Laurits Seier & Magne Seier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 89
Collections: Ragna_rok





	Huginn ok Muninn fljúga hverjan dag

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to get back into fanfic writing after my muses have been AWOL for over a year now. No inspiration, nothing, nada. Then I watched a silly Netflix show on Norse teenage angst et voilà, a tiny bit of inspiration, so I had to write it down. I guess it turned out ok-ish so I'm posting it (in this tiny fandom with like 8 other works....). I hope someone might enjoy it :)

The first thing Laurits noticed about Edda was that it was weird. Sure, it looked like any other picturesque little town at the foot of a mountain - postcard perfect, from afar - but once you got closer it just had this weird energy. It was nothing he could really point to and say: “That’s it, that’s why this place feels so strange!” It wasn’t even that the local SPAR had a witch manning the till. It was just that the whole atmosphere in town made him feel on edge. Uneasy. _Restless_. 

The air itself felt charged with something, but not like you’d charge a balloon with static electricity against your wool sweater to stick it to someone’s back (not that Laurits would ever do something like that, of course not, no matter what Magne claimed). It was more a feeling of _potential,_ of power and possibilities and success for those who knew how to harness it. 

Sometimes Laurits felt like he was just a step away from knowing how to grab this potential and make it work for him if he could but remember how. He didn’t know _what_ he was supposed to remember or when and where he might have learned it, but he was sure that he should know something about all of this. It was driving him up the walls.

He was nearly sure that Fjor and Saxa and their parents knew it, this thing that kept escaping his grasp. Their family was the very definition of _power_ in Edda. They flourished in this strangeness that seemed to bring sickness and death to so many others. He’d heard all the rumours, all the gossip.

Laurits found that being confident and loud and in peoples’ faces most of the time meant he could go unnoticed as soon as he stopped being loud. He could sit in a corner and vanish into his surroundings, like putting on an invisibility cloak. He could watch and listen, taking note of what was going on, who was doing what and with whom. And people would forget he was there, get careless, talk about things in hushed voices they’d never usually say where someone might overhear. 

He knew there were few families in this town who had not lost loved ones to cancer and strange chronic illnesses. They had watched their fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, daughters and sons wither away and die while the doctors shrugged and scratched their heads and had no idea what was making people sick. Or were just not admitting that they knew.

The whole town seemed exhausted, tired, fatigued, whatever one wanted to call it. Everyone but the Jutuls. They were vibrant and strong and way too pretty. He wanted to get close to them, wanted to know them. So he just did what he wanted and shoved himself right into the middle of their little group of friends without asking anyone’s permission. Fortune favours the bold, after all, or something like that. 

He’d found early on that you didn’t necessarily have to be popular to get what you wanted. You just had to be confident, and funny, and never back down. You just had to take what you wanted and do whatever you pleased and never care what everyone else thought of you. And that’s exactly why when he felt this strange urge to join in with Fjor and Saxa at the spring dance he just did it, without a second thought. And it felt good, really good, too good. There was a connection between them that made them move like one body, one mind. He’d never danced with them before, of course, yet all three of them were perfectly in sync, never missing a step. And it was the sexiest thing he’d ever been a part of. The only thing he knew for sure while it was going on was that he wanted more of this. 

Afterwards he could have sworn that the charge in the air got even stronger, or that he was maybe just more aware of it. It felt like he should be able to just reach out and grab it and do with it as he wished. But there was still something missing. It was the same with what Fjor had called the _Old Language_ (Laurits could practically hear the capital letters). He felt like he could nearly understand it if he could just remember, if he just _knew_ whatever it was he didn’t know. 

Sometimes in the morning, right after waking up, he felt that he finally knew what it was that he was missing but it slipped from his mind like the details of his dreams. 

Even though he didn’t remember much about them he was sure that his dreams had also gotten weirder here in Edda. He’s pretty sure he’d never dreamt of horses before, or wolves and snakes big enough to swallow him in one gulp if they wanted to. He’d wake up and his lips would burn with remembered pain for a second. Some days his eyes would be sore when he woke up and he’d hardly be able to stand what little sunlight Edda got. 

He’d stumble to the bathroom, still half asleep, to take a leak, and didn’t recognize himself in the mirror for a second because he expected his hair to be longer, and red. He’d never had red hair in his life. 

And as if everything wasn’t weird enough already, his mother went and got a crush on their history teacher. On top of the other crush or whatever she already had on Vidar Jutul. If Laurits didn’t want to heave at the very thought he would even say his mom and old Vidar had a thing, back in the day. He just hoped (but didn’t really believe) that it had been after his father had died. 

Despite all this general weirdness Laurits also noticed that there was something different about his brother. And it wasn’t only that Magne suddenly thought he had superpowers or something. Or that he’d stopped wearing his glasses. Or that he for some reason took on a dead girl’s fight with Vidar Jutul. A dead girl he’d only known for a few days. Which, if he thought about it, was actually a very Magne thing to do. His brother could get very intense over unfairness and injustice. 

There was also that strange dinner at Jutulheim (and wasn’t that just a fabulously pretentious thing to call your house?). It might have just been that he’d never seen Magne drunk before but Laurits had hardly recognized his brother. He’d been wild, rough, aggressive. Magne and Ran had broken a fucking table with just their hands. No, that had not been the Magne he had grown up with. For that short time he’d been nearly a stranger. 

And even afterwards, when he was sober again, he’d still always been this tiny bit different. There was the thing with the dog, of course, which was very unlike his brother. Laurits was sure he’d never kill an animal without good reason. He just didn’t have it in him. But since there were no wounds on Magne no one believed his story of self defense. Laurits honestly didn’t know what to make of it all, himself. But he was sure his brother wasn’t mad, or on drugs, not Magne. 

But he _was_ changed, somehow. He held himself differently, walked differently. He was still big, slightly clumsy Magne, of course, but sometimes he’d stand and stare at the mountains with his back straight and his shoulders back and he’d look like a general looking out over his army. More often than not in these moments Laurits would absentmindedly wonder where his brother’s hammer had gotten off to and if he’d need to go find him a dress again. Usually he’d just rub his eyes and go make himself some coffee when that happened because he was clearly not getting enough sleep.

But while his mind for some reason was contemplating dresses he came up with the perfect plan to get back at Ran for the way she’d treated his brother, for the things she’d said about him, for what she’d done to him. Kicking him out of school, saying he was mentally ill, forcing him to get an examination. She’d gone too far. Laurits wasn’t one hundred percent sure what was really going on between Magne and the Jutuls but he drew the line at them abusing their power to hurt his brother.

He was also deeply disappointed in his mother. He’d expected the teachers to stand with their principal, to be honest, their jobs depended on it, after all. But he had expected that their mother, at least, would be on Magnes side. Growing up with a brother who had some problems, in school and in general, Laurits had learned long ago that most of his mother’s attention would always be taken up with managing his brother. He’d grown used to her telling him to take care of his brother, even though Magne was the elder. 

She and everyone else seemed to conveniently forget that he was just a kid himself. They all expected him to be the reasonable one, the grown up one, between the two of them. Hel, his mother actually made more of a fuss about Magne, who was nearly old enough to buy the strong stuff himself, getting drunk than about Laurits, who was definitely not old enough to even buy beer being given any alcohol at all. Or smoking. Or staying out all night. She treated Magne like a child and him like an adult. Not that he minded the freedom that came with that. It had many advantages to be perceived older than he actually was. 

But it also meant that he _did_ feel responsible for his brother, that he _did_ try to look out for him and protect him as if he were actually older than Magne. Of course that never stopped him from playing all kinds of tricks on his brother, but it was all in good fun. He’d never intentionally hurt him. And he’d make sure everyone who did hurt his brother would regret it. Because, as was so often the case with siblings: No one was allowed to mess with his brother but him. 


End file.
